


Call Me Nihilistic

by Bidawee



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gaslighting, Hunters & Hunting, Hypothermia, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 14:12:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19230736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bidawee/pseuds/Bidawee
Summary: Since being a young boy, he can't remember there being anything more interesting to him than Town.





	Call Me Nihilistic

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes, you just gotta be brave enough to post a story knowing it may not be perfect  
> more detailed warnings (with spoilers) in the end notes.
> 
> you want a playlist to listen to as you read? heres 5 songs that helped me write this!  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/22ft4c2iwh223kijzz5b3v3wi/playlist/4h4q3M1SAPzumC6ZiXoGkD?si=JQjV1LVbRa-4lqDGC4OmrA

Since being a young boy, he can't remember there being anything more interesting to him than Town.

He has no idea why. Every time his father describes the place it becomes gloomier. It’s where the unfortunate go when they have no skills to call their own, to beg on the streets. No one lives there; the residents all died after the blow, leaving behind skeleton houses where merchants set up shop. That’s where you go to sell your trade, to give something you can and get something you cannot.

For as long as he can remember, he’s been using a needle for that very purpose. Who clothes the town, the animals, and the weapons but the Nylanders? Even before Michelle came and went with her baby, before the Backstroms gave up their home, taking Nicke with them, and even after he grew into his shoes and had to do the work his father had before him, everything has been about sewing. But never actually going into Town.

His father has always made excuses as to why he can’t take Willy with him, the easiest being Willy’s bad eyesight, something he’s had since he was a young boy. He can thread a needle but has problems seeing a deer run out in front of him, or so his father jokes. In his father’s words: “the path is treacherous and you are too young to come with me.” None of the children go, not Willy’s younger brother or two younger sisters. They all stay in the home nest, weaving under their mother’s instruction until practice makes perfect.

It takes years of stitching, pricking himself with a needle, making alterations, and tracing patterns to then cut and push together for his father to see how capable he is, how _responsible_. On William’s sixteenth birthday his gift is a promise. At eighteen, his father says, he’ll take him.

 

He’s seventeen now and coming close. With every month he spends living with his family, the walls of the house close in more. Willy can name every flower and clover a mile out. What he does know he knows well. His father works on the rest, introducing him to the strange men that come over: Brian with the flock of sheep or Sami and his cart of deer pelts. His father is slowly training him on how to open trade with them for materials, guaranteeing that for a fur coat or two the family can put deer meat on the table for supper.

The world around him stops looking so small, the other children not so big. He can disagree with his father’s decisions, with reason, and see the frown on his mother’s face when she thinks no one is looking. He can do everything from a basic to an advanced stitch, forage in the forest for berries to dry out come spring, and even play with knives without getting his fingers cut. He’s ready.

 

Each year, the snow comes sooner. That winter is no exception. The flowers begin to wilt and take their colour with them. The rain freezes into pellets that beat the ground, shaping it.

The orders for clothing and sheets come in at ridiculous speed. They’re short in the necessary supplies they need to work with so his mother takes a tally of what’s broken, misplaced, or unusable and writes it down on a piece of envelope paper for his father to take into Town with him. Her level head keeps them in check. It doesn’t, however, stop her from celebrating when her husband comes home with a box of shiny new needles for them to use.

His younger sisters don’t notice the cold as much as Willy does and go outside to play when they’re not working. He knows that they hang out by the river and check the nets over a conversation about marrying into a big family down south, where they “have power”, but thinks nothing of it. They don’t know any better. They’re young, they’ve still got energy and dreams left in their bodies which is more than what could be said for him.

Then, the world stops spinning. Stephanie falls sick. Blame the river, the cold, or the snow; they get their first scare no matter the culprit.

The change of the season comes with bouts of fever and coughing, that much they expect. The summer months are perfect for stocking up on medicine and years after having their first child, his parents are old hands at it. Sickness is a good thing: it means that they are building antibodies, becoming stronger. For the next few months they will be immune.

But then she doesn’t get better and worse, she takes Jacqueline down with her. His mother does everything she can: she changes the damp rags on their foreheads every hour and grinds up herbal remedies to treat them with. She scrounges for miracle cures, beating the soil with her bare hands. Their conditions don’t improve. Willy can’t sleep because he can hear them hacking in the next room. Soon, the noises go away but for the wrong reasons. Both of his sisters have lost their voice.

Older sister Michelle refuses to come near them. She won’t risk infecting her baby, so they’re down a nurse. Willy plays the part and fills in when he can but it’s easy to see he’s hopeless about the nursing side of the problem. He’s working to put food on the table first. If he slacks then they have nothing to sell and can make no more money to buy food, comfort, or treatment for his family. Luckily for him, Alex is great about helping his mother in his place.

On the day he scrapes up his finger and looks for band-aid, he finds their medicine supply low. The bottles he touches rattle with one or two tablets. Some make no sound at all. The guilt he feels from disinfecting just one of his wounds when the gauze could be saved for someone who needs it more turns his lungs black.

It’s a blow made worse by how he goes downstairs and hears the scrape of his mother’s voice. It’s the sound of a woman who hasn’t slept in three days, who starves herself to give her portions to her daughters knowing they will just throw it back up.

“We need to do something,” she cries. “They’re getting too weak to lean over and into a bucket. Does Andersen still grow vervain or--”

His father steps into frame. A cold sweat makes his skin glow. “He stopped with medicinals last year, I think the Johnssons still have a store of antibiotics.” He holds his head in his hands. “It’s going to cost us a fortune.”

He sees his mother get close to him, giving his father a weak push. “Well, it’s either that or Steph, do you have a preference?”

Willy never gets a break from their fighting, it’s easier to go back into his room. He’s already read his store of books and newspapers but picks up his old editions and starts again. In his head, he makes up vivid scenes of the world from the pages he reads. As far as distractions go, it’s poor. In the back of his mind, he knows he’s only doing it so that the yelling goes away and being aware of that makes him listen harder to hear what his parents are saying to one another.

When the sun begins to set, Willy hears his door creak. The person opening it is trying their best to be quiet but wood on wood will never not be loud.

“William,” his father says. He knocks after the fact.

Willy looks up at him. His father continues, “I need to go into Town to get medicine for Stephanie.”

He blinks. He would’ve thought his father would stick to the idea of fighting it and only going in when absolutely necessary. They must have hit that point.

It’s a dark world and the situation with his sisters is bad but he can’t stop himself from feeling the strike of excitement at the idea of going into Town.

“Can I come with you?” Willy says.

“Not this time. I’m leaving you in charge of the house. You need to look after your mother and sisters.”

Just like that, the opportunity is gone. Willy’s expression drops.

“Why can’t mom do it?”

His dad sighs. “She’s been complaining of a sore throat, I think she might be down with it already. If that’s true then she will need someone to help out around the house, can I trust that you’ll do it?”

Willy panics. The responsibility of taking over presents itself in many new and daunting ways. It goes without saying that hearing his mother is sick only makes him feel worse about his situation.

“Wait,” he stops his father, “what if something goes wrong? What do I do? Where do I go?”

“You’ll be okay.”

“But if I’m not?” He tries to follow his father out.

“You know where Michelle lives, go see her, she won’t turn you away. If she’s not home, keep running east. I don’t know if you remember Jonah Johnsson, our medic, but he lives out that way. Pay him what he asks for.”

He places a hand on Willy’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Make me proud. Look after your mother for me, okay?”

There’s nothing Willy can do but agree. It’s not like saying no is an option.

His father leaves the next morning at twilight, the skies a dark silver colour to match the snow. Willy sees him out. His father is camouflaged in his wolf pelts, becoming just another tall shape in the distance.

 

Willy holds down the fort as long as he can. Failure shouldn’t scare him as much as he does but there isn’t a minute that goes by without him realizing death waits around every corner.

His father does not come back. It’s normal that the date he gives them for his return isn’t accurate: bad weather can come in and stall him or the people he needs to talk to won’t be in town (or they want to negotiate). Nothing has ever taken as long as this trip, however. Never.

His mother and sisters’ health only continues to deteriorate. Willy has to make a lot of hard decisions. He can’t get sick or who will look after them? The family is counting on him to perform to the best of his ability. That means he’s trying to avoid contact and contamination. His younger sisters are quarantined to their rooms, with him only seeing them when he slides food under their door. Most of it comes back up, so he’s back to change their bins. Alex collects the sheets when they’re done when their mother cannot.

His father made it clear that Willy should only go to his older sister as a last resort--that, he understands--but he’s beginning to get desperate. The smell of death in the air makes him want to hurl. The weaker his mother gets, the more sleep he loses. He’s competent at cooking and cleaning but only just. This is something that won’t hold.

And what happens when the seamstresses, cogs working in the great machine of the surrounding area, go out of business? When he’s worn to the bone and tired, does their skill die with them? Who else will take their place?

It starts as speculation and then continues. Once he gets it in his head that he’s better off going out than staying in, there’s no stopping him.

As he slinging his coat on, Alex appears from down the hall. Malnourished from the soup they’ve been drinking, his skin hangs from his bones.

“Where are you going?” his accent hugs his voice. With nothing to do and hunger making it too hard to concentrate, sleep is how they pass the time.

“To get help.”

Alex doesn’t look too happy about it but the lack of a reaction tells Willy that maybe this was something he predicted would happen. “You can’t leave,” Alex says. “What will we do without you?”

“I’m looking for someone who knows what they’re doing. Who knows when dad will come back? We can’t just sit around and wait for him.” He chooses not to touch too heavily on his father and whatever fate become him. It’s the last thing they need now, when hope is precious and fleeting.

Alex, who’s normally well-guarded, gives up the ghost. He inches closer. “But Willy, what if something happens to _you_? Dad never showed you how to get to Town.”

“I’m just going to Michelle’s. If that doesn’t work, her husband can point me to Town.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Willy brings his brother into a hug. “I know. I’ll be fast.”

Alex holds on longer than necessary. There’s so much going on in terms of his face; Willy can see him cycle through more emotions than he can count on one hand.

Willy takes with him a pair of gloves to wear over his mittens and his old running shoes, the laces held together using a knot. Alex gives him a few bean cans and flint to make a fire with, for the worst-case scenario. It should only be an hour tops if he’s walking fast.

A storm is blowing in and he really should wait. Alex brings it up as he’s leaving, knowing the second the words leave his mouth that Willy is going to go anyway. It’s a precaution he takes for the sliver of a chance that Willy is enough of a coward to stay behind. It succeeds in making Willy keep his wits about him and nothing more.

It takes only minutes for the snow to erase him ever being there. Alex becomes a small dot and then just a spec. Out of sight does not mean out of mind. He stays beside Willy as he walks, a small comfort in a world with none.

Willy has a lot of difficulty finding Michelle’s cabin and not just because it’s winter. The hedges she grows around her property are cut down. It changes the entire landscape. It takes long enough to find the house in its sorry state but when he does get there, no one answers the door.

All the blinds are drawn and he can’t see inside. He presses his ear to the door, listening for a baby’s cries or the whispers that will give them away. There’s not a peep, which could mean many things. His mind, in its sorry state, goes for the worst case scenario.

(It haunts him thinking about where Michelle would be. They wouldn’t take a baby with them, not in this weather. What other option is there? Did they think a pandemic was on the rise and leave their own flesh and blood?)

With no key on him, the only option is to continue to the Johnssons.

 

The Johnssons always made house calls so it’s safe to say he’s never been to their place before. He remembers Jonah being blond with high cheekbones but is the first to admit a lot of what he thinks he remembers is exaggerated—the talking points of an eight year old with a broken finger. He keeps the description fresh in his head, just in case he runs into anyone that looks like it. Or anything like it, really.

Not that he’s actively looking for people, mind you. He’s heard horror stories about beggars who gang up on unsuspecting travellers. His father had his gun and Willy has his knife for protection, though the latter doesn’t do him many favours in terms of defence.

He has no idea how long he runs for. His feet turn cold and then his ankles and calves. It’s the simultaneous feeling of there being no more heat his body can provide and the pins and needles that come with his toes becoming stuck to his boot. All of his fingers and toes harden into coal pellets. He considers getting the flint out from his backpack but has trouble believing he can hold it in his hands without dropping it.

Energy saps itself from his bones and all that’s left is a husk. Sometime later, he falls to his knees, finding a small inch of comfort in how he no longer has to keep walking. Little flakes of snow land on his shoulders. His right cheek touches the cold ground, his knees are kept separate by large tree roots.

He gets drunk on his own delirium. It’s not the worst way to go. His bones feel like they’re connecting together to become one big skeleton. His head is stuck looking to the side at the patterns in the undergrowth trying its best to grow around the sleeping trees.

It’s a while later, much too long, when he hears the sound of crunching snow. He tries to distance himself from the noise but it gets louder. The next time he opens his eyes, he’s looking at a pair of worn boots. The laces are double knotted, ends frayed.

He looks up. The face is familiar but it’s hard to say who it could be when he’s seeing double. It’s definitely not Johnsson; too dark. One of the coarse hands runs down his hair to the back of his neck, brushing away the snow that has collected there. That show of kindness comes at the expense of Willy’s nerves coming alive, telling his body all at once that he’s in pain and that he’s dying.

The man shushes him, doing the heavy lifting for him by bending his knees. All that he asks Willy to do is wrap his arms around his shoulder--he can feel the padding of the layers the man is wearing underneath--and hold on for dear life. Air swoops in under him, not for long. Willy’s placed on some kind of structure. It smells like spruce.

In seconds, they’re in motion. The rivets reveal themselves to be screws holding planks of wood in place. His upper half is cushioned by bundles of something. It’s rancid. His eyes spy fine copper-coloured hairs. Willy can only investigate using his fingers. They touch the saddle of dark colour in the middle. They come away stinking of blood.

He can’t say for sure how long he’s pulled or where exactly the man is going or who he is. All he can do is wait. Low hanging branches twang as they hit the sled he’s on. Willy is so big in height that the tips of his boots drag two thick lines in the snow. He tries to lift his feet up only for the effort of doing so to overcome him.

For an undetermined amount of time, he’s looking at the same environments with different tree arrangements. That is, until they come to a clearing. He spots an axe and a series of tree trunks. The pine needles shake with their arrival. Willy’s body tilts and he hears the man grunt. The hill they’re scaling is small but the extra weight makes a difference.

Finally, they stop. Willy’s chest and head rattle. The man looks around, pulling his hand free from his mitt to press it against Willy’s forehead and check his temperature. He must be satisfied with his findings as seconds later, he drops to a crouch.

“Stay here, I’m going to get my son,” he says. His thumb strokes down Willy’s forehead to the apple of his cheek.

William holds his arms and legs in place, crossing both wrists over his chest to keep warm. His hands, probably white at this point, are hiding inside of his sleeves. It stops the wind from finishing the job that the temperature has started.

There’s the distinct slam of a door.

“Oh shit.” The voice is different. Not deeper, just different. The other man steps lighter on his feet. Like his father, he uses his second knuckle to move Willy’s hair away from his face.

“Grab his legs. We need to keep him warm,” the first man says.

A hand clamps down on the back of Willy’s neck. The heat on his nape makes him jerk.

“William, can you hear me?” the older man asks. “We’re going to move you inside now.”

Willy manages a weak nod. The older man takes his back, neck, and shoulders. The son gets his legs, his hat pulled down so far on his face that Will can only spot a few blond curls to tell him that there’s a head of hair there.

Inside is warm. The shock to his system is almost too much to bear and he lurches as if about to throw up. At first, both men look ready to drop him and indeed, the son appears to leave. Willy’s legs are under the pull of gravity once more, and he screams when his heels make contact with the floor. It’s the father who takes the initiative to drag him, with both hands under Willy’s armpits.

There’s a blur of motion in Will’s periphery. He hears a flapping noise the sees the spinning dust particles. That all comes before he’s gently laid on the ground. The plush ground; something is under him.

They keep him by a burning fire, stirring the coals with a prod when necessary. The son is by his side the entire time. Beside the fire is a basin they are warming up. Every so often, the son daps a washcloth in it and then applies it to William’s feet, ears, and hands. The skin gradually becomes a soft pink.

The pain drives him to tears. The cloth they’re not using is stuffed into his mouth to give him something to bite down on. The son offers his hand for Willy to squeeze. It makes it feel as though his fingers are going to fall off.

As for the rest of his body, the problem is solved by the son dropping a blanket on him, trapping more heat under him. Willy tries to shake it off only for the son to press it down.

“You need this,” he says. He keeps his hands flat to Willy’s back until he stops trying to free himself. He doesn’t know that he’s cooking Willy to death. Willy waits until the son leaves to go into a different room to kick it aside.

He passes out on the cold, hard floor surrounded by layers of fleece and wool. His belly sloshes with warm fluids force-fed to him by the son. His entire body aches.

 

He wakes up in the early dawn with his sinuses blocked up. His throat has closed on him. It tastes like something has curled up and died on his tongue.

William gets up on his elbows, taking the time to learn about his new surroundings. The cabin is a lot smaller than where he lives, with much of the empty space taken up by racks of animal pelts and skins drying out. A foul odour is pervasive in the room because of it, something he assumes he was able to ignore because of how close he was to the smell of soot and flame the whole evening. Not that the smell comes foreign to him, he’s used to Sami’s deliveries stinking of blood and death when they first arrive at their door.

Once his brain gives him the name Sami he grabs it with both hands and doesn’t let go. He’s slow to connect the dots but gets there eventually. With it, he can feel time slipping away from him; the distorted images of his mother and sisters coughing only makes the mission feel more urgent.

It’s selfish of him to want to stay buried in heat when his family is in so much pain but he can’t imagine getting up and going back out there. For the time being, he’s safe.

He draws circles and squares on the blanket under him as he’s waiting for his hosts to wake up. He doesn’t know if the son fell asleep beside him and left before he woke or if he was never there to begin with. It’s hard to tell the difference. In a way, he’s happy that in the middle of the night he wasn’t spending his time dealing with the heat the son forced on him.

The cabin lights up with the appearance of the sun. With it comes the father and son, who enter from outside and bring with them mitts and boots topped with snow. Willy ducks under the one blanket he has to shield himself from the cold air, announcing his presence to the other two men.

In the blur of colours and shapes, Sami’s face comes into view first. It’s twisted with sympathy.

“William, you’re awake,” he observes. “Did you sleep well?”

“Fine,” Willy says. He opens his mouth to help suck down air, seeing as how using his nose is like trying to breathe through cotton bolls. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

Sami scratches the underside of his chin. “Yeah, I can’t say I was expecting you out there. Looked already dead.”

It didn’t feel like he was close to dying. He expected his body to let his soul go loose and let him roam the world. Just a minute where he wasn’t a prisoner to his most basic needs so that he could walk down to the river and walk on the stepping stones without slipping in. It was so...mundane when it happened.

The son comes out, a completely new face. He sees the blankets pooling around William’s midsection and makes an attempt to rush over. Sami stops him with a hand on his chest.

“This is my son, Kasperi. I believe your father and I were talking about him the last time we spoke. He was with you last night.”

“Yea,” William says. The name pings around in his head. It’s so distinctive, it would be hard to forget it.

Sami removes his hand and Kasperi continues on his way over. He picks up the discarded blankets all in one hand. William only has the one underneath him. When he looks up, Kasperi is holding the blankets over his head like he’s about to drop them on him, again.

Will tries to parse the words. “I don’t--”

“He doesn’t need them, Kass,” Sami says. That stops Kasperi, who then disposes of his load by one of the worn wooden chairs.

Sami sits down next to Willy, crossing one leg over the other. Up close, the grit and cuts from work are plain to see. Kasperi stands behind him, looking unsure of what to do with himself.

“Where is your father, William?” Sami asks.

“Gone,” he forces out. “We got--we got sick. He went into town and never came back.”

The information doesn’t look to surprise Sami. His back straightens when he hears the word sick.

“Are _you_ sick?” he asks. In this climate, he has every right to worry.

Unsure about whether or not he has the contagion, Willy’s not going to give them a reason to throw him out to the wolves.

“No,” he says. “I left my sisters and mom to find help.”

“Is your family still at the house?” Willy nods. “All right.”

Hope flies up and out of Willy’s throat. “Are you going to go get them?”

“I’m going to see if I can find your father.”

Willy gets to his knees, one hand flat on the floor. “I can,” he tries putting his weight down on the hand, unsuccessfully, “I can show you the way.”

Sami’s shoulders rise.

“No. William, we’re going to keep you here until you are strong enough to look after yourself. It’s too dangerous for you to go back.”

Willy promised Alex he would come back and be there for him. To say anything other than no to Sami would make him a bold-faced liar.

“You have to help my mom,” he says, puffing his cheeks up.

Sami doesn’t look like he’s in any hurry. “If she’s strong, she will fight it. If not, then there is nothing we can do.”

“Fuck you,” Willy says back. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “There’s got to be something we can do. I left to find them help!”

“And you survived because you were strong. So tell me, what good can be done of you returning to an infected family and becoming sick yourself?”

Willy closes his eyes. “I’m not strong. I was lucky enough for you to find me, that’s all.”

Sami doesn’t even try to argue with him. He scratches at his beard, giving Willy time to mull over what he’s said. If he’s expecting Willy to change his mind, he’s sorely mistaken.

Finally, Sami turns his back on him. “Get some food in him, Kass. I have to go out.”

 _Out_ could mean anything. Out could be going into Town or leaving to hunt. It could mean taking a leak or going on a long walk. It’s hard to draw conclusions from such a vague statement. Willy can’t find hope in it.

Willy’s left at the mercy of Kasperi, who looks very upset at the turn of events. It doesn’t stop him from following his father’s orders. Kasperi leaves and then comes back with a warm plate which he spoon feeds Willy despite his protests. It’s humiliating but Willy is so hungry he could care less. His stomach is a bottomless pit; anything put in front of his mouth, he eats.

He dozes for as long as possible, then spends the rest of his time surveying the house. Any time he hears a door open he shoots back to his spot and lies low. Sami’s cabin is smaller, he’s not raising five children after all, and what makes up the decor are the few things he hunts and scavenges. It’s not supposed to be a house of fond memories with crayon markings on the wall. There are very few places to go, to hide inside.

Michelle was lucky enough to move into a house with siding when she married and the foundation of Willy’s parents’ own house had brick even if the bulk of it was made from lumber. The Kapanen’s place is all wood and organics. When his fingers trace the walls he can feel the cold air shoot out.

When he turns around from his inspection, Kasperi is there. He has on him a thin wool sweater, which he passes to Willy without saying a word. He does speak, eventually.

“It could be worse,” Kasperi says. “You could be out there.”

Willy burrows his head into the sweater’s collar. It smells so foreign, like Kasperi. He pulls his body over to be beside Willy.

“Have you ever hunted before?”

Willy shakes his head. He’s seen dead things before but it’s not the same thing.

“What do you do?”

“I sew,” he says. It comes like second nature. “My dad taught me.”

Kasperi takes a guess, “clothes?”

A list comes to life in his head. “Clothes, blankets, anything really. I’m good at it.” Considering the circumstances, he feels like he’s allowed to brag.

“Maybe my dad could use your help,” Kasperi says. He knocks on the wood lining the cabin. His knuckles touch a deer pelt hanging on the wall, probably to give it colour.

“Yeah.”

Willy can’t think about working right now. His thoughts are dark storm clouds in his head. He can chase them all he likes but will never be able to collect them.

It’s a long night. He is still recovering from his injuries, both physical and not, wishing he had something to distract himself with. When he closes his eyes, all he sees is his brother’s panicked face. By now, he must have the idea in his head that Willy will not be coming home. He wonders what he’ll do. If Alex leaves too, then his mother and sisters are doomed.

 

The house is so small that he has to share a bedroom with Kasperi. In the dead of night, it’s nice to have a warm body beside him. That being said, it takes some getting used to.

Kasperi doesn’t fall asleep right away, he likes to talk. He talks to Willy about many things, things he’s seen outside. In return, Willy shares his feelings of doubt, of _fear_. It all feels too personal but seeing as how they’re half-asleep when they do talk, Willy assumes nothing will get back to Sami.

One day, he finds Kasperi ass up, head down in the closet. He brings out a dusty box, inside a bunch of needles and pins. He gives them to Willy, telling him he can “keep his hands busy” with them. It’s supposed to be something to help keep his boredom at bay. It does more than Kasperi will ever know.

Willy finds a routine, and with it, some peace.

 

The house has a lot of rules that go unspoken and it’s not so much a learning curve as it is a learning spike. The first thing Kasperi teaches him how to do is collect drinking water from the metal cans they have outside, strung with chicken wire across the same line they do laundry on. They let the water settle on the windowsill, filtering it using a clean cloth, then boil it on the stove.

While they’re unhooking each can from the barbs, Sami’s out using the wheelbarrow to take the remains from their meals out to decompose in the forest, where Willy can see they’re trying to nurture the remains of a berry bush so that in the spring, it will come back. He should know why, inside there are jars of picked berry jam they can spread onto stale bread for breakfast.

Everything has a purpose. When Sami’s is out showing him the boundaries of their property, Kasperi is right there beside him, taking the time to pluck oyster mushrooms out from where they’re growing in the trunks of trees, putting the cut heads in Willy’s messenger bag. Willy learns fast that if they are going outside, it better be for more than one reason. On the way back, he’s right by Kasperi’s side, pulling up roots until both of their hands are black with lumpy soil, white on the inside from the cold. They dump their findings on the table to sort into mason jars. What they find today will be dinner tomorrow.

He doesn’t stand around for the gory parts, when Sami and Kasperi work in tandem to gut the beasts both big and small of their internal organs and slap their disembodied legs on the dinner table.

He doesn’t, however, mind rinsing the blood and internal fluids off: he’s been doing it ever since he could toddle. Working with fur and wool is his bread and butter, what else are all the scabs on his hands from? It was always his responsibility to make sure the pelts they worked with were clean; his brother and sisters could never manage the work without dry heaving. When Kasperi tugs on the one pair of rubber gloves, he’s right there beside him with a dirty washcloth, putting in the elbow grease. It’s something he can do without thinking, thank God.

 

“I can make it to Town in one day,” Kass says one afternoon, as he’s helping Willy haul their kill back to the cabin.

“Really?” Willy asks.

“I’m even faster than my dad and he’s the fastest in the village.”

“Are there lots of fast people in Town?”

Kass bites his lip. “There’s some. A lot of them are old though.”

“Are there young people too?”

“Some parents bring their older children, if that’s what you mean.”

It brings back memories of Willy’s father promising he would take him on his eighteenth birthday. With it comes a bang of grotesque hurt. It curls in Willy’s stomach, festering.

Using all the willpower he can find inside of him, he tries to push it down. “Do you think your dad will let me come in with you?” Willy asks.

“Nah,” Kass laughs. When he sees Willy’s face fall he rushes to get a word in. “I mean, you’re still weak and we need someone to look after the place. We had vagrants attack here once.”

“Vagrants?”

“Yeah, the beggar people. There’s a lot more of them now.”

Willy knows what vagrants are, he’s not stupid. No, it’s that he feels a lot less secure knowing those people are walking around and that of all places, they have come here.

Kass gets back up in his face. “Don’t worry, if anyone tries to hurt you I got my crossbow. Two bolts in the head and they’re done.”

“Thanks,” Willy says. It doesn’t help.

Kass doesn’t notice how on edge he is. He walks back to the cabin, pulling his load and leaving Willy to pick up the slack. It’s back-breaking work. Willy has to lie down after. Maybe it’s what Kass meant when he said he was weak.

Sami picks up where the conversation left off. He notices that Willy is on edge at dinner, if the quirk of his eyebrow is supposed to mean anything. When he prods, Willy gives him an honest answer.

“What do you think happened to my father?” Willy spits the words out fast. They leave a bad taste in his mouth.

Sami answers. “Could be anything, can’t say for sure.”

“Is it really that dangerous out there?” It feels like a stupid question. It _reads_ as a stupid question.

“Kids out there, they die from being unprepared. They die from hypothermia or wolves or bears or God forbid the beggar people come after them for everything they’ve got. It’s easy to be taken advantage of if you don’t know what you’re up against.”

He makes a good point. William doesn’t know what’s out there. No one will tell him. As he glosses over what Sami says, something about the use of _kid_ and _unprepared_ and _hypothermia_ makes it seem like he’s poking at Willy’s decision to leave the house, knowing that his knowledge of the outside world was second to none.

 

Kass stays behind the first time Sami goes into Town to make sure that Willy doesn’t get any ideas in his head about running away. At least, that’s what it looks like. Being in the same house with Willy doesn’t make Kass any less involved in the day to day life. Since Sami’s a quiet guy, him being gone changes nothing about what they do every day and how they do it. By all accounts, Willy should be fine on his own.

He washes down their plates and keeps himself busy testing patterns. Kass is in the other room, down the hall. He comes out soon enough, something about being bored. He asks Willy to teach him the basics of sewing, with a frown.

Willy shows him how to sew the pelts through the skin, not the fur. He can tell the other boy is more entertained by the idea of skinning the pelts with a knife rather than learning how to whipstitch, sitting there beside him more for the company than the learning experience. Near the end, Kass drops his needle and is happy just watching Willy tie off the thread and hold the collection together, smiling.

When Sami comes back the next day he heads to the kitchen where Willy is, swishing water in his cup. He hasn’t even knocked the snow out from the grooves in his boots. Wet footprints follow him.

“I spoke with your father, William,” Sami says, without even waiting for him to turn around.

Willy drops his cup, water spilling over the table. “You did?” He presses the cloth napkins on the table to pick up the spill. “What did he say? Is he okay?”

Kass’ head shoots up in the corner of his vision. He was napping not a minute earlier. Hearing the news that Willy’s father is alive has turned the set face into something twisted: scared.

Sami is better than his son. He doesn’t show any emotion on his face. “He’s fine. I told him that we took you in.”

“What about everyone else?”

“Everyone else?”

“My family,” Willy says, his words coming with a curl. Sami should know by now that the reason he’s here is to be the messenger.

Sami takes a deep breath before continuing. “He didn’t say much but he did have to move houses. Couldn’t sell anything because sickness keeps in the fleece. Something about an older daughter’s house. It sounds like they came through but he didn’t say anything about his wife and kids. I couldn’t tell you if they survived or not, I’m sorry.”

“Did he ask about me?”

“A little bit. He was relieved to hear you were fine but he doesn’t want you to go home.”

The admission makes his stomach twist.

“What?” He wants to make sure he heard him right, that his own father isn’t considering leaving him behind. The idea of it is staggering.

“Too many mouths to feed already. He said it was better for you and for him if you were kept safe here.”

He hiccups. “Can I go see him at least? Maybe he meant something else.”

Kass materializes behind him and places a hand on the small of his back. “Hey,” he says. His words trail off.

Sami shakes his head. “It’s collateral. I’m sorry. If you want to leave, you can, I won’t stop you. I assume you’d want to stay here until you can find other living arrangements.”

“I don’t have other living arrangements,” Willy says with a wail.

Kass’ hand fists into his shirt. He’s trying to pull him in, create a space for him close by. Sad thing is, Willy wants that affection. Needs it. Living on his own has taken a knife to everything he held dear.

He’d bounced back well from coming close to dying and from hearing the news that the Kapanens wouldn’t be taking the risk of going back, both understandable, but this is the breaking point. He holes himself up in the shared bedroom, unable to do much other than stare at the wall. Kass comes in after dinner and steps into bed without saying a word. He sleeps on the outside of the bed, reserving the warmer, better spot on the inside for Willy. Willy tries to keep quiet so that Kass can sleep, joining him about an hour later when it’s too dark to see the clothes on the floor nor Kass’ arm sticking out from the sheets which he then bumps into and disturbs.

He has no idea if Kass is awake or not when he slides under the covers. All he does know is that when he closes his eyes, he feels a weight press into his back, an arm over his side. Whether Kass does it in a sleepy-state or in the middle of a dream, he won’t be finding out anytime soon. Too scared to ruin the moment, he relaxes into it.

 

The house isn’t big enough for three men to have their privacy. It was probably a rental back in its prime; full-time living was not its use.

Kass shows him the pipes that run under the cabin, once. They’re thick on the inside with ice. They connect to the unused toilet in the storage closet, which is as dead as they are.

With few options at hand, Willy ends up spending most of his time as a package deal with Kass. Kass has no other real friends, there are no families in the area, so it makes sense that he would want to share the world with Willy.

More often than not, Willy is sitting outside on tree stumps when Kass starts and finishes target practice. He’s good about letting Willy watch what he’s doing: standing close by when he plucks the cocking ropes on his crossbow. When it’s safe, he lets Willy touch the barrel groove. As much as he wants to, Willy is good about not asking to hold or fire it, for good reason: it’s Kass’ baby.

For Kass, the crossbow is a symbol of freedom. It makes him strong, strong enough to hunt and kill like animals twice his size. Kass counts down the seconds to when he goes on hunting trips with his father, to wield it again.

It’s a part Willy could never play, not even if they trained him. Instead, he finds his own place in the family. He streamlines a lot of what they do. Instead of Sami having to haul fur pelts over to the Nylander residence, he has a live-in seamstress to work on projects for the extra coin. It saves him energy and time. With the added profit, they can afford to get better food and better living conditions: more furniture for the house and ammunition for weapons.

There’s the voice in the back of his head, always there and always beating him down for not only abandoning his family but stealing their business. When he confides in Kass about it, he receives strong words back.

“They’re the ones that turned against you,” he points out. “You’re a part of our family now.” He hugs Willy from behind, his forehead mashing into the tight skin of Willy’s back.

There are good days and bad days, times when he’s so homesick he can’t keep down even the simplest of recipes. The faces in his memory start to go blurry. Did his mother have two or three moles on her neck? He’s not sure.

 

They get a year of happiness in their little cabin before all hell breaks loose.

Leading up to it, everything is normal. Sami is his usual quiet self, about to go out on a solo hunting trip. He’s starting to put space between him and Kass. Whatever he brings back from the trips is usable but in small quantities; what you’d expect from a one person job. They can’t complain, even if Kass gets prickly about it. Distance builds character, or so Sami says.

The old man goes out on a nice winter afternoon, almost to the year of Willy’s arrival, and its the last they hear from him. The day comes and goes and Sami does not return. It’s Willy who brings it to the attention of Kass first, who blows him off. Sami and Kass never leave the house without overnight gear, just in case they can’t find a shed to duck into when the night creeps in. It’s dangerous but Kass tells him that his father has done it a thousand times. He’s a natural, he knows what he’s doing.

After two days, the worry sets in. Kass begins to change, taking up post by the doorway. When the winds calm down he’s out in the pair of boots his father left behind, combing the surrounding area for clues. Kass didn’t lie about being fast, he gets out pretty far and then comes back in record time, never smiling. Always worried.

Then comes the day that Kass tells him that he found a collection of stones with blood on them, thirty minutes from their cabin. It’s close enough to their place but far enough from the others to mean something. When he brings it in for inspection, Willy can see the rim of the splat is a rust brown colour, meaning it’s been outside for long, but not long enough that he can chip away at it. It’s not fresh either, even if the outside refrigeration means it’s been preserving the evidence and keeping the smell away.

It’s not enough to draw conclusions from. With no body, they can only assume the worst. As of late, their property has stunk. It’s musky, unpleasant. A mixture of blood, feces, and urine that only bears come to carry. Putting two and two together, Willy thinks it’s only right that Sami went down fighting and paid the price for his bravery.

Kass is a lot less sure. He doesn’t take any scenario Willy puts in front of him seriously. Why should he? The wild never gives answers.

“You thought your father was dead,” Kass says to him one evening. Willy is boiling water and not expecting to hear him talk, especially so close to his ear. “He was alive.”

“Sure,” Willy says. The topic of his dad is a tough one. Willy still hasn’t come to find forgiveness yet, even if he misses him like he would a limb.

Days pass and the likelihood that everything is alright decreases exponentially. There’s no ticking time bomb over their heads like there was for Willy with his family dying all around him, it’s just them alone in their shared house. The seconds drag on and they’re helpless but to stop it. Death waits for no one and to be frank, life doesn’t either.

Willy doesn’t mind taking over most of the chores while Kass recovers, things like collecting fresh snow from the cans and shaking any ash from the filters they use so it doesn’t pollute their drinking water. He’s fine with running himself thin to keep Kass from falling apart.

 

The first week after Sami’s disappearance is hard on both of them. Someone that was once there to help ease things along and deliver carcasses and pelts to the door is suddenly not. Life with Sami is all Willy has ever known in this house, to subtract him from the equation is going to cause problems.

Willy works like a machine, castrating the emotional impact of the change from everyday life. People come, people go. That’s how it’s always been. The best way to fortify yourself against it is by not thinking about it. It’s a hard lesson, one he’s had to learn and one Kass is getting the first taste of.

Now that there’s a room freed up in the house, he expects Kass will move into his father’s bedroom. Yet, Kass has and will continue to sleep with him. It’s more for Kass than it is for him, no matter what the boy says when Willy brings it up. After all, it’s Kass who has his arms around Willy when they wake up together. Kass is the one that needs a body beside him to sleep. Willy has learned better than to bring it up in discussion; if he goes where he shouldn’t Kass won’t sleep, period. He’ll be there in the kitchen when Willy goes to make food, with a steaming hot beverage to his side. Pride is a powerful thing and for Kass, it’s his entire world.

The importance of healing can’t go underestimated but on the other hand, they also can’t take their sweet time with it. Their “fresh” food supplies last them the week and a half. Willy, having not been trusted with learning how to hunt, is powerless but to sit back and wait. The most he can do is ration their food, easier than he imagined it would be seeing as how Kass has now lost his appetite. Yet, even three meals a day consisting of only rice and kidney beans is not a sustainable business model, not even for a family as small as their own.

When Kass first jerks back into a normal routine, it comes at the worst possible time. Willy is taking back his freedom one step at a time, finally able to go past the boundaries and do as he wills. No one is watching over his shoulder to see if he’ll behave. Kass doesn’t even follow him outside to see him check the traps.

Once he’s got a taste of it, it’s hard to let go. However, that’s exactly what he needs to do when Kass comes to him one morning with cold eyes.

“I need to go into Town,” he says. It’s the first words he’s spoken that aren’t “thank you” in days. His voice makes it sound like he’s been gargling on broken glass shards.

Willy looks back at the stack of projects he’s been working on. He had to put a grate up to stop them from slipping into the seating area. The fur has been teased and washed out and is ready to wear. They wouldn’t have food to sell but the coats would bring in some coin, coin they could use to stock up on supplies. They need that food now more than ever and Kass, being so weak with grief, will need all the help he can get in making his way to Town.

Willy is already turning his body to go walk away. “I can help you carry them.” He inserts himself into the scenario, expecting nothing of it. It strikes a nerve in Kass, who runs in front, placing both of his hands on Willy’s chest.

“No, I need someone here to look after the cabin while I’m gone.”

Willy gestures at the sled, stocked to the nines with their work. A tiny plank of wood separates the stitched pieces from the pelts. “But it’s heavy and dangerous.”

“All the more reason for you to stay here.”

“But--“

“Willy, you’re staying here.” A thick convulsion beads Kass’ voice. He includes a mean little laugh. “It’s for your own good, I promise.”

Willy crosses his arms. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Last I checked, I am. You’re living in my house.”

Willy can’t help but laugh at how much he sounds like a parent disciplining their child. It does wonders in making Kass lose his temper, shoving Willy with both hands to get him to stop.

“Since when do I have to listen to you?”

“Uh, when we took you in and saved your fucking life maybe?”

Willy goes for the jugular. “Well, what if I don’t want to live here?” It’s never something he put serious thought into but he throws it out anyway. He wants to jab at Kass’ weak points, no matter how mean that sounds.

Kass laughs in his face. Now, it’s Willy’s turn to take offence. He turns around and walks toward the kitchen where his messenger bag sits on the table, smelling of earth. He gets one strap over his arm before Kass puts the pieces together and yanks him to the side by his hair. Bracing for a hit, the hair grab does more pain-wise than any shove or slap would have.

“Where are you going to go?” Kass asks. Will stops himself from blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. Kass forces his chin up so that their eyes connect. “Tell me. Tell me right now where you’re going to go and I’ll let you.”

Willy decides on the blunt answer. “I’m going to go be with my father.”

Kass’ face tightens. “After he said he didn’t want you anymore? Funny.”

“He said he didn’t want another mouth to feed, but I can feed myself.”

“So why not live alone as a free man? Why not run free and ‘sustain yourself on the earth’s natural harvest’ or some shit?”

“You’re trying to make me look stupid,” Willy says.

“Because that’s what you’re being right now: stupid. You going to go live in the woods like a barbarian?”

“You act like there aren’t abandoned cottages in the bay.” He frames his words with confidence, like he’s not speaking in tongues from the stories his father told him as a child. His father was said to have hiked north to the bay, where the farmers lived growing food and medicinals. Willy has never been there and can’t confirm that what his father says is true but he’s not going to tell Kass that.

“So you’re going to leave here, with a guarantee of food, warmth, and safety to, best case scenario, go live in a house with a poorer quality of life? That is, if you can even find a place. You’ll probably freeze before that happens, knowing you.”

Willy’s face is on fire with his embarrassment. It’s clear that no matter how he works to put his emotions into words, Kass is just going to poke holes in his explanations for fun. It’s the type of battle you don’t win.

Kass realizes the moment that Will stops fighting, as demonstrated by the deep sigh that leaves his nose. He steps closer. “Listen, I’m not happy about this either. I’ll come back as soon as I can, I promise. We’ll have dinner together, make it nice.”

Willy looks down at the floor. He’s finding it hard to see any benefits to being by Kass’ side but he supposes he may be a biased party. How would he know of the harrowing journey into Town when no one trusts him to even try it in the first place?

Usually, he counts the days before they make their deliveries. That month, he’s less warm to the idea of Kass leaving him to his own devices. While Kass slings his crossbow over one shoulder and ties the laces on his boots, Will is by the stove throwing vegetables into the soup he’s making. Some of it will go into a canister Kass will consume during his leg of the journey, but the rest will sustain Willy until he gets back. With winter still a very dangerous presence in their lives, he must do all that he can to not deplete his rations any faster than what is absolutely necessary.

He hands the canister to Kass on his way out the door. Kass reciprocates by taking Will’s hand in his own and giving the fingers a small kiss.

“I’ll be back soon,” he says. Willy is still rewinding to the kiss. It’s so unlike his character.

Kass leaves with Willy’s messenger bag and a piece of paper inside that details what Willy needs to survive the next few nights. He tried to stick to the bare minimum. It might be missing a few things. He wrote it with Kass looking over his shoulder.

With Kass gone, he has his freedom back. Had they not had that screaming match he might’ve seriously considering getting out and making a run for it. That idea comes and goes very fast. He has so many chores to busy himself with. He’s tired. He wants to bury himself under the five or six blankets they have in the storage room closet.

Being alone in the house is unnerving. Even if Sami was out with his son, hunting together, he could at least count on them coming back with something to show for it. He would conserve their lumber and then make a big fire for when they got back, to flush out the house with heat. Now, it’s cold for a whole other reason.

One night passes, averaging the trip length to Town. He knows it’s not far, it’s the sense of direction that’s the problem. Finding the sweet spot for going places isn’t easy and walking around in the winter makes matters worse. Willy chases away that sick feeling in his stomach and throws his attention into some mattress stitching. He’s been waiting for some free time to fix the seam on one of his sleeves. He joins the pieces of fabric together, checking the running threads’ tension as he goes, and feels nothing.

Kass returns with an empty sled, waterlogged boots, and a coat with one too many dirty handprints on it. When he notices Willy staring at them, he shrugs and explains he ran into “beggars”, but lets the tone of his voice talk at length about his disgust in ways his words do not. Will holds his hands out, helping Kass out of his jacket.

He expects to feel some form of anger or resurgence from their last fight. It is there but he doesn’t feel like addressing it. Kass is acting like nothing happened, so bringing it up would only look bad on him.

“Did you sell everything?” he asks instead.

“Of course, the people are freezing out there.” Kass flashes their earnings in his small rabbit-skin purse. It looks like a lot. It should be a lot, they had a big hull. “Brian liked your blankets; says that one of their mares just gave birth. They needed ‘em.”

“Glad to hear it,” Willy says. He can’t share Kass’ excitement. The only horses he’s seen have been in picture books and sewing instruction manuals. Ironic that he can map their hindquarters and shoulders to help fit a nice blanket but will never see the horse it will go on.

Kass keeps talking, oblivious to how each word is a dagger slicing open Willy’s throat. “He gave us so much wool, like, three sacks of it. Says you’d know what to do with it.”

“Mm.”

“Anyway,” he pats his thighs, “what’s for dinner?”

“Some leftover stew and venison. Did you get the salt like I asked you?”

Kass cocks his head. “Yeah, but I haven’t unloaded yet. I’m ravenous.”

“I just need a sprinkle of salt, is it okay if I get some? The bowls are by the counter.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

He slits the bag in the top right corner to get to the salt. He drops his fingers into the small hole and pulls out a small pinch. He adds it to the pour, serving it hot to Kass, who’s stretching his legs out under the table. Willy can see the bruises under his knee, big and purple.

He eats all that Willy gives him and then some. He can tell how hungry Kass is for how he eats his second helpings without the salt to give it flavour. Willy isn’t that hungry, so he gives over what’s left in the pot for him.

Just as they’re getting ready for bed, Kass disappears outside. He comes back with a closed fist, jogging up to Willy.

“Oh, I got you this.” Kass throws him something. Willy’s only able to catch it in the last minute. When he opens his hands he sees a tiny ball wrapped in tinfoil.

“What’s this?”

Kass looks pleased with himself. “Someone was selling a handful of chocolate they found in storage. Thought you needed something nice.”

He’s only tasted chocolate once, when he was small for his birthday. It was before his younger sisters were born and the family had to seriously ration the food they bought. It was about the same size as what’s in his hand now.

It’ll melt very fast with the heat of Willy’s hands and the cabin’s fire, so he unravels the packaging and slips the ball into his mouth. Saliva gushes out. He can’t stop himself from moaning out of happiness.

“Holy shit,” he says.

“You like?”

Willy nods his head furiously. He swallows. “Yes.”

All is forgiven between them after that. Kass gives Willy the space he needs to change and slides into bed after him. They ride the wave of that reciprocity.

It’s Willy who seeks out the company of Kass the next night. It’s partially to help make Kass feel better and a little bit for himself too. It’s easy to see how inexperienced Kass is, particularly with the male body.

Willy lets him touch to sate that curiosity. Kass is eager but takes his time. They fumble around, groping each other and sometimes kissing, hoping to forget that tomorrow is going to be the same as today, the same as yesterday, the same as every day this year.

 

Without Sami to tell them what to do, Kass has to grow up fast. Unfortunately, how he chooses to grow up spits in the face of everything Willy is used to. His individuality, what makes him who he is, is now secondary to Kass’ authority. Gone are the target practices and interest in each other’s life. Kass hunts, Willy sews, and that’s who they are. There’s no mixing or in between.

Willy can’t help but go mad with worry. If the bears took Sami, a veteran and someone whose hunting skills are unparalleled, then Kass is just an easy kill. If Kass doesn’t come back then Willy is alone with no food source and no means of getting into Town.

No matter how much he pleads and begs, Kass won’t show him the way. Maybe he fears Willy will decide to leave him if he does or maybe he’s scared that Willy won’t survive the journey. Willy’s run out of ways to explain that that’s not it: why would he leave a place with a steady and fresh food supply and room for both of them? Not to mention, he’s not a baby anymore. His eighteenth birthday has come and gone.

To no avail. Kass continues as he always has. In death, Willy will be shackled to his corpse.

 

Willy starts growing in a thick beard. Kass offers to shave him and does so with care, also using the sharp blade to cut his own hair, now down to his shoulders in length. They’re not perfect jobs but seeing as how they’re not going to be entertaining company, it’s not like it matters. Willy kind of liked having the hair on his chin. Looking at the cracked mirror, he resembled his father.

Cutting it feels great too.

 

Willy is minding his own business, warming up leftovers they were keeping cool in the iceboxes they’ve made when he hears the shot. What follows is a sharp yell. Willy’s heart rate kicks up a notch. It’s not Kass.

His first thoughts go to there being vagrants outside. Kass talks about them all the time, the hopeless, those with nothing left. His heart swoops. Kass was outside not five minutes ago. Is he hurt? Is he _alive_?

He stands up, removing the meat from the fire so that it won’t burn, and walks around the house on the edge of his toes. On the way out to the boarded-up door, he picks up a plank of wood with a nail embedded on the pane. He could probably swing it and do some real damage. He’s not a coward.

When he throws the door open the first thing he sees is the body on their front lawn. Snow curbs the limbs, starting on a grave. A flurry lands on top, powdering him with white. Kass stands to the side, looking good as always. His hands are red with blood.

“Fucker,” Kass says, to no one in particular. He drags his hands through the snow to clear them of blood.

It takes Kass a minute to realize Willy is standing right behind him. When he looks up at Willy his face is blank. “Are you okay?”

Willy blinks. “I’m fine. Why--”

“This guy was trying to break in.” Kass nudges the head with the stirrup of his crossbow. It falls back. Willy can see the splat of red on the cheek.

“Oh.”

“But you’re safe now. We’re okay.” Kass walks up. He takes the plank from Willy, leaning it against the wood siding outside. Willy can feel how cold his hands are.

“Yeah. Thanks, Kass.”

Willy tries to identify who is dead from the single look he has to get. Could be family, could be a stranger. It’s difficult to see if it could be either. He has to take Kass’ word for it and move on.

 

The first time he tries running, he only winds up getting lost.

After killing the man on their property, in cold blood or not, Kass goes from being possessive to _obsessive_. He’s always there, watching over Willy’s shoulder even when he isn’t. There isn’t an ounce of trust between them, no problem that can be solved on the basis of friendship alone. Willy stops going to bed with Kass because of it, afraid of what would happen if a sexual relationship comes into play. Still, he thinks the damage could already be done.

He’s on a new level of surveillance, usually not even allowed to be outside except for emergencies or for his work, and when he is out Kass is there with him. Sure, Kass helps out more than he did before but the very necessary idea of privacy is gone. No secrets between them except for, well, everything on Kass’ end.

At least back in his old house, there were housecalls. If you needed a new chair someone made one to order and would show up at your door five days later. Medical and repair work were at your beck and call and more often than not, Willy’s parents would let them stay the night or at least have dinner with them. He doesn’t get that pleasure here, not even when something falls into disrepair. Kass will be the one to do everything and make good on his deliveries. Willy is the ornamentation in the house.

The thought of his parents combined with the loss of independence wear him down. The world loses its colour, his appetite dies down, and everything tastes like flavourless sludge. He wakes up, stitches and sews, eats, then goes back to sleep.

Deciding he wants to leave takes a lot of thought and self-sabotage. It’s not the kind of thing that jumps on your back and makes sense. It enters his head slowly and takes its sweet time making the idea of running look pleasant.

He doesn’t take any of his work with him except the shoes he has on and a thick winter jacket. He slings a bag of rations over his shoulder and prays he doesn’t have to dig into them too soon. His lunch sits in his belly, still hot from when he wolfed it down.

Kass is out hunting and could be anywhere. Willy tries following the main roads where Kass wouldn’t go, wary of whatever he comes across, aware it could be alive and dangerous. The snow builds up into banks he has to climb, the few birds that are still around scattering when he walks by then. Some snow falls down the back of his shoes, making his socks sopping wet. It’s a mild discomfort he has to fight through.

Every tree looks the same. They weave in and out, hiding cottages and housing that people duck inside of. Once or twice he sees a well-used road split from the main. He decides not to see where they lead. If Kass could shoot a stranger without warning, so could anyone else.

Ahead, there’s a partition where the fallen trees and posts stop the road. Wires spout out in every direction. He’s careful to not touch any of them but looks on in fascination. It’s something he remembers reading about in stories, a time when humans could control energy with their hands. They lit the world up gold.

Everything looks the same, so everything is equally stranger as it is familiar. He can see animal tracks in the snow, hooves and paws. It’s how the sausage is made, right in front of his eyes.

In his disoriented state, he’s not paying attention. Not until it’s too late, at least.

A bolt is fired into his leg. He feels the shockwave begin sparking up his legs and back. What starts as a white-hot flash fizzles away. He begins screaming, loud enough for the few living animals nearby to take their leave.

Someone is standing over the edge of the hill. The sun is backlighting them. Willy’s eyesight is so bad that he reads it as being a vagrant and begins to struggle. His knee hits the ground in the wrong place and bruises the skin.

“I told you to stay in the fucking house!” he yells. Willy’s heart stops. It’s Kass.

He grabs Willy by his hips and tries to spin him around so he’s in a better position to be manhandled in. Willy is limp; he’s no more cooperative than a sack of potatoes.

The shock from the injury makes him come to his surroundings in a haze. All his body can think about is preservation. It purges what’s left in his stomach and turns his skin into cold scales. His body backpedals and becomes hot. Uncomfortably hot; he wants the clothes on his back away from him. It’s trapping that sickly feeling under from where it can’t get out. Kass won’t let him.

Kass has a ways to go but insists on carrying Willy. When he gets tired, Willy’s legs are left to drag. The wound pulses blood. Willy has no feeling in his right foot and he fears the worse. He doesn’t want it to be amputated.

He drifts in and out of unconsciousness for a while. Someone has filled his throat with wool. He has to force himself to breathe.

Finally, they’re home. Kass pulls him up the stairs and then onto the dining table, which he clears with a sweep of his hand. Willy can hear the clatter of the wooden plates as they fall to the floor.

It’s not much warmer inside. Willy’s body shivers. Kass yanks a pant leg up, shirks off the boot, and squeezes the skin around the wound. Willy’s chest clenches, his tongue clicking. Inside of his stomach, red hot magma boils.

Kass dresses and treats the wound with what they have in store. Then, with the care of a lover, he brings out blankets and pillows. He creates a makeshift bed for Willy. When the fire is going and the food has cooked, he slips a spoon into Willy’s mouth and massages his throat to help him swallow. That night, he camps beside Willy, using the remaining pillows to make the chair he’s sitting in more comfortable, one eye on Willy.

The next morning is awkward. Willy can’t walk without assistance, dialling his dependence on Kass up to eleven. Kass doesn’t say a word to him about it. When Willy’s hands twitch, Kass brings him supplies and fabrics he can use to keep himself busy with. They never revisit what happened. Willy is too scared to bring it up.

 

Not talking about things doesn’t magically fix the problem. It makes him anxious. When Kass is tinkering with his crossbow, the sound of the bolts pressed into the machinery makes him jolt. He can’t be in the same room as Kass. But he has to.

He’s got a ball and chain around his legs and it keeps him working. Pulling at threads, rinsing fur of its blood, weaving the hairs together and combing the fur until it’s nice and soft to the touch. Winter ends, their food supply begins to get plump. Kass comes back from his expeditions with hard plastic baskets full of edible berries. Willy strings up nets on the back porch to scatter them on so that the sun will dry them. The harvested goods get a spot in the pantry to themselves for a change. As the small businesses in Town come back from their hibernation, it’s finally the weather for walking and swimming.

Willy has trouble doing either. He can’t put too much weight on his right leg. The wound healed as good as it could but without a doctor to check and make sure they’re going off of assumptions for a diagnosis. That gives Kass more reasons to be protective of Willy, the absolute last thing he needs.

For his nineteenth birthday, he tries to make Kass promise to let him see a doctor. For someone who claims to care so much about his health, Kass’ hesitation speaks volumes.

 

Winter is getting longer and longer. It stretches from late August to late May. Soon their entire town will be blanketed in snow because of that first blow. Human cries will come from six feet under snow.

“This is my fucking house, I say what goes so shut up!” Kass yells at him.

Willy flinches. He backs up, giving Kass the room he needs. He doesn’t even know what they’re fighting about this time. He got careless, didn’t watch what he was saying. Of course Kass would take offence to it.

Kass comes back to himself. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You can’t say things like that and think I won’t get angry.”

“I’m sorry,” Willy parrots.

“That’s okay, I forgive you. Come here.” He opens his arms and makes room for Willy. Willy slides in and wedges his nose into the band of muscle in Kass’ shoulder. The better he goes along with the love, the easier it becomes to listen to the yelling.

He remembers his mother saying sunshine and laughter would keep the winter at bay. Their house has so little of it, he’s not surprised to find frost’s claws under the door, bringing a chill into the room.

 

When Willy comes down with a fever in early spring, things go from bad to, well, not worse but a close cousin. It could be a lot easier to deal with if Kass left him to recover on his own. After all, Kass gets sick all the time. He’s had close run-ins from the ice giving out under his weight and him coming back freezing to death.

Knowing Willy’s family history when it comes to contagion, Kass doesn’t take his chances. He’s up in Willy’s face, shaking him awake at the most inopportune of moments to check if he’s still breathing (more often than not happening after Willy has worked for hours trying to find a position that doesn’t make him want to throw up). He’s never seen Kass look so scared, not even when he was staring death down its shotgun barrel.

Kass falls back into a rut, not going out to hunt and crowding Willy’s space, risking infection himself. He feeds Willy to bursting, covers him in blankets, and won’t keep his hands away. Willy swears there are red hot handprints everywhere he can see skin.

When he’s sick, he has trouble sleeping. It’s normal. He expects it when his sinuses go crazy. What he’s not expecting are the tears. Even in his fever-haze, he knows that it’s Kass crying beside him in bed in the dead of night. He’s lurching with the force of his tears. Willy thinks twice about comforting him but is afraid to be yelled at for seeing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Deep down, he knows Kass is worried about him and that he does what he’s doing with good intentions in mind, no matter how they play out. Getting breakfast in bed should be something wonderful. He should be flourishing under all the love and attention Kass is giving him.

Yet, he’s scared. Scared shitless. If this is Kass’ love, he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want him at his best nor his worst. He wants to get out of there.

 

He pushes his shoes off at the door. He lines the toe cap with the other shoes on the rack, creating perfect symmetry. Kass will notice any misalignment when he comes to check in the morning. He must be careful.

His hands are dusty from collecting firewood. The smell permeates in the room something fierce. Willy’s hood smells like smoke. Shaking his jacket out on the porch does nothing.

The fire in the next room over is out. If Willy listens hard enough he can hear the beginning of snores.

Willy tip-toes over to his room on the squeaky floorboards. With a single look back in the direction of Kass’ room, he heads back to the front entrance.

Three pairs of socks are stuffed into the hood. His hands have two pairs of gloved pulled over to keep the cold from nipping at his fingers. On his thigh under his jeans, he keeps a deerskin water sac with supply until he reaches Town. He has enough money to keep himself afloat until he finds help.

He’s been preparing for months, taking cold baths in the river every day to get used to the cold. He opens the front door and gusts of cold air drag him kicking and screaming back outside. Willy has to put on his old runners on the steps, looking over his shoulder just in case Kass wakes up.

Large milk thistles block the way out to civilization. Willy has to walk south, to the river. It is a deep as it is treacherous. He takes a deep breath before wading in, the water reaching his knees. The temperature is ice cold. It threatens to bowl him over and take him running with the current. This time, Kass won’t be there to pull him out, slap his face and rub rabbit skin over his stomach to keep him warm.

Water gushes through the holes in his shoes and wets his socks. He’s miserable and cold but he doesn’t think once about turning back. Every hour he can use to put distance between himself and the cabin is valuable. Kass goes to bed late and wakes up early. When he finds Willy’s room is empty with no sleeping beauty to wake, his temper will flare up. He’ll reach into his closet and wield his crossbow. By morning’s sunrise, he will be out in the forest in his father’s boots hunting him down just as he does the deer they pillage for food.

He must keep running.

 

He goes in the opposite direction than he had before, taking breaks every couple of minutes to rest his leg. It’s still dark outside and the cold nips at his fingers. He’s back where he was years ago, wandering in the bleak landscape. He’s hoping that the wind whipping his face will push snow over his shallow tracks to help hide him.

His pants freeze from being in contact with the water. His body slows down, trying to recuperate lost energy, yelling at him for leaving the comforts of his home and the heat of a fire to try running. It’s not too late. He can try to find his way back, say he was being kidnapped or got lost looking for something. Kass might believe him. He won’t kill him, he had so many opportunities to before and didn’t. Willy is immunized against harm from him, so logically he should be using that to his advantage.

Determination alone keeps him pumping his legs, crouching under branches and tearing himself free from the bramble plants that make up a good third of the forest floor. The river begins to widen, opening up more and more. Before his eyes, it becomes a lake. The rocks underneath making river rapids split, hugging the shoreline.

The dirt under his feet turns to what feels like a collection of chunky stones. They crunch under his feet and he rolls a few under his heel. It makes it easy to get a grip. He can see what’s ahead of him now that the sun is beginning to rise. It adds a new level of danger, being out in the open clearing.

Every time he takes a step with his bad leg, it’s the equivalent of needles digging into his skin, drawing blood. He has to take breaks more frequently. That means ducking under bushes and behind logs, trying to find cover. It doubles to keep him warm while also hiding him out of sight.

He changes out of his cold socks and into something more fitting. His feet begin hurting, crying out for attention as he puts his weight on them. He’ll have more than a few blisters to his name by the end of this.

Then, he sees his first cabin. Not like the shacks around their house, the abandoned pieces that used to house people which fell into disrepair, but an actual place with living, breathing people. He didn’t have to wander to find it either, it fits in plain sight, waiting to be found. He wonders what skill they have to practice to make a living, if they’re the repairmen, carpenters, or even the doctors.

He makes a list in his head of reasons why he should keep walking and plays it on repeat. It keeps him up on his feet even despite the ache everywhere. He _has_ to make this journey.

It’s a long time before he sees another building. It’s huge, with steel doors what looks like a giant machine sitting in front. More buildings lead the way. A grey path of cement connects them together, cracked and full of holes.

Snow kicks up to his right. He realizes he’s been standing around the corner of the first building, staring ahead. It scares the life out of him. He jumps a few feet in the air.

At first, he doesn’t know what he’s looking at. It’s a wrap of clothes and shawls. The one covering the top shape is magenta with thin yellow hairs sticking out. A canvas bag is slung over one shoulder, heavy with so much material it looks ready to pop the socket of the arm it’s on.

It--he--has a gun pointed at him, one finger on the trigger. Willy is squinting, he can’t see the face with how far they are from him. He puts his hands in the air, trying to squash the feeling of inappropriate joy that comes with seeing him.

The man gasps, he drops the gun.

**Author's Note:**

> William family succumb to sickness. It’s implied their eldest daughter abandons them and/or dies. The fate of family is left ambiguous. Although Sami says he finds them later, there is no way to prove he is telling the truth. Willy consents to staying with the Kapanens but after a year is threatened—this consent is now void. Sami Kapanen dies from a bear attack. Kasperi gaslights Willy into staying with him and keeps him prisoner in the house. The two had a sexual relationship Willy consented to which stopped when Kasperi turned threatening. There is a patriarchal hierarchy in the house. Kasperi fires a bolt into Willy’s leg to stop him from running away, doubling as physical abuse.
> 
> this fic doesnt not represent or claim to represent the people inside of it and is a work of fiction
> 
> come talk to me @cursivecherrypicking on tumblr!


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